The Game of Life
PAUL H. DUNN
T
his is an awesome sight, brothers and
sisters, and I am humbled by it. I pray for
the inspiration that would be required to teach
perhaps a principle or two.
President Oaks, faculty, and student body,
I bring you special greetings from part of your
number in Austria and from those just returned
to Austria from Israel. It was my privilege last
week to attend a Mozart concert in Salzburg,
along with my good wife and another couple.
How delighted we were to be approached by a
number of your fellow students who are studying there. I asked if there was one message I
could take back, and—typical of those who are
away from our country, away from home and
this great University—it was their desire that
you realize the blessings and opportunities provided here. I am pleased to indicate that they
are well and happy in the work.
I am pleased also to recognize BYU’s great
baseball team. To you, Coach Glen Tuckett and
Coach Vernon Law, we are all pleased and
proud of the great record that you have made.
Many eyes have been upon you, and I think it’s
significant that this school leads the rest of the
country in the innovation of bat girls. I don’t
know what greater motivation a player would
need than that. I came down to watch a ball
game or two, and I can appreciate why Coach
© INTELLECTUAL RESERVE, INC
Tuckett and Coach Law counseled these players to keep their eyes on the ball. We salute you
ladies who have set such a wonderful example.
This prompts me to tell of a little experience
I had in Boston some time ago. I recounted this
story to a group of BYU employees earlier in
the fall. I suppose it wouldn’t shake your faith
if I told you that while I was on my mission I
occasionally took in a ball game. (I believe in
being a well-balanced individual.) On this occasion I had my wife and daughter with me, and
as I was being escorted to my seat, I noticed
that the place next to me was to be occupied by
a man of the cloth. (I couldn’t tell whether he
was Protestant or Catholic because they dress
quite similarly now.) It became obvious as the
game progressed that he was an avid Red Sox
fan. He had an interesting vocabulary and he
never hesitated to express it. The game that
night was against the New York Yankees. If you
know anything about the American League,
you can appreciate that there’s not a whole lot
Paul H. Dunn was a member of the First Quorum
of the Seventy of The Church of Jesus Christ of
Latter-day Saints when this devotional address was
given at Brigham Young University on 30 October
1973.
speeches.byu.edu
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Brigham Young University 1974 Speeches
of love between those two teams. Some 33,500
fans filled the park to observe the contest.
The score was nothing to nothing until
the eighth inning. Then the first batter for the
Yankees singled sharply to right. He took second on a fielder’s choice. Now you have this
situation: the winning run is on second, one
out, and Bobby Mercer at bat. He hit a sharp
ground ball to Rico Petrocelli at short.
Petrocelli bobbled it momentarily. The ball
got through his legs and out onto the outfield
grass. Here came the winning run around
third. Boston was going crazy. A perfect strike
to the plate, a cloud of dust, human flesh crashing, and then the decision by the umpire—
“Safe!” Well, you could image, I suppose, the
mayhem in Boston over that decision—but
particularly the man on my right. He was now
standing in his seat with a fist clenched. These
were his words, and I shall never forget them:
“Thou hast eyes but seest not!” I suppose there’s
a great sermon in that.
The story concerning an umpire prompts
yet another. It seems that on the other side of
the veil there was to be a contest between the
hosts of heaven and the other force below in a
baseball game. The two coaches got together;
and one, a heavenly messenger, said to one
of the imps of the adversary, “Do you realize
what you’re asking?”
He said, “I think so.”
The messenger said, “You recognize, of
course, that in heaven we can field a varsity
team of former hall-of-famers.”
“Yes,” the little imp said, “but you ought to
understand that we have all the umpires.”
I am sure BYU’s team probably has thought
that a number of times in games they have
played.
Run to Win
Inasmuch as we’re honoring BYU’s baseball
team today, let me take something of an athletic theme as a text. I guess it doesn’t surprise
some of you to learn that there are scriptures
regarding athletics in all of the standard works
of the Church. One of your great teachers,
Robert Matthews, brings to our attention some
athletic terms that the apostle Paul used in
several of his letters, and he prefaces his work
with this comment:
Every two years in Corinth (and also, of course, in
other cities) games were held in which all the sports
which the Greeks loved, such as footracing, boxing,
jumping, wrestling, javelin and discus throwing,
and chariot racing, were presented. The prize was a
mere wreath, or crown, of pine twigs or ivy leaves,
but a winner was welcomed in his native city with
great honor. Rigorous training and long practice
were required in order for a person to qualify and to
participate in these events. A contestant had to go
beyond mere amusement and had to discipline himself by constant, severe effort in order to be a winner.
In proclaiming the gospel, Paul makes several references to these athletic events. He speaks of boxers,
fighters, runners, and the course they run. He speaks
of gladiators fighting wild beasts, of a crown for the
winners, of goals, of prizes, severe training, proper
conditioning, the starter, the judge, and above all the
will to win. The early Christian converts were no
doubt familiar with these events and games. And,
therefore, Paul used the vocabulary of the athlete to
urge his listeners to apply the gospel into their lives
and particularly to show them the importance of
self-discipline and self-denial.
Brother Matthews goes on to say that Paul
probably stood in one of those great stadiums
of the Greek games of his time and watched
the marathon runners as they would go up and
lay aside their armor. They used to practice
running in their armor, and then they would
lay it down for the race. The starter would set
them off; they would run 26 1⁄4 miles, going out
into the neighboring village and back on the
road, finishing up in the stadium. At the conclusion of the race, the judge would award the
prize to the winner. Paul probably watched
Paul H. Dunn
such a race and saw a great vision of life when
he said these words:
Let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which
doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience
the race that is set before us,
Looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of
our faith. [Hebrews 12:1–2]
Paul perceived in sports one of the greatest
things that training can offer: the will to win.
He saw those champions crowned in victory,
and he saw the wreath that they had received,
and he saw that one day he would stand triumphant and receive the greatest crown of all,
the crown of eternal life. Paul knew how these
great men strove for victory, and he knew of
the zeal and vigor with which they went into
the race, and he saw that the Christian was
likened unto them. The illustrations Paul used
are particularly suitable because of their religious significance. Like Jesus, Paul was skilled
in the use of vivid illustrations drawn from
current events. He pointed out that the price
of victory in the gospel sense as well as in the
athletic contest is dependent upon sustained
effort, self-discipline, and total dedication.
Now let me quote from his letters. [Sipping
from a glass of water]: I’m sorry to drink in front
of you, but I came home the other day and lost
my voice. I hope this will help me bring it back.
It does remind me of an experience I had one
time. In some parts of Europe and Australia,
they don’t seem to believe in water. I was speaking in Australia, where water is nonexistent as
far as drinking is concerned, and before a large
group I started to choke. I had swallowed
improperly, as one sometimes does, and I couldn’t breath, couldn’t speak. I turned to get some
help from those on the stand, and they just
shrugged their shoulders. They had a look that
seemed to say, “Well, good luck.” I was panicky,
and I did the only thing a good American would
do. I grabbed a vase that was on the stand and
took a rose out of it and drank the water.
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This is what Paul wrote to the Corinthians:
“Know ye not that they which run in a race run
all, but one receiveth the prize? (You see, the
Corinthians would understand that.) So run,
that ye may obtain.” Every athlete, said Paul,
exercises self-control in all things. He does it to
receive a perishable wreath—just a simple little
twig or wreath—but we, an imperishable one.
I do not run aimlessly, he went on to say. I do
not box as one beating the air, but I pummel
my body and subdue it lest after preaching
to others I myself should be disqualified
(1 Corinthians 9:24–27).
Now notice this to his friend Timothy: “I
have fought a good fight, I have finished my
course, I have kept the faith: Henceforth there
is laid up for me a crown of righteousness,
which the Lord, the righteous judge, shall give
me at that day” (2 Timothy 4:7–8). And then,
again to Timothy, Paul made this great admonition on which I would like to make a comment (I appreciate what these young men, as
many of you here, represent.) An athlete is not
crowned unless he competes according to the
rules (2 Timothy 2:5). Now, there’s a great
sermon in a single line. Life is made up of
interesting rules and regulations, and one can
become the victor only as he competes
according to the rules and the regulations of
the game. You and I are in the great game of
life. There are lots of rules and regulations.
Some of us have a hard time occasionally
discerning why they apply to us.
I learned as a young high school athlete
that rules sometimes are more important than
winning. I guess I have shared this experience
a time or two around the Church, but I remember when I went in to sign up for varsity baseball. I was fifteen years old. I went over to the
gym where the head coach was officed. Scared
to death, butterflies in my stomach, I knocked
on his door. “Come in,” was the reply, and I
walked in. He said, “What can I do for you,
young man?”
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Brigham Young University 1974 Speeches
I said, “Where do you sign up for varsity
baseball?”
My coach made a very interesting observation. He said, “Do you want to play ball, or do
you want to be a champion?” Well, that was
kind of crazy. I wanted to play ball.
I said, “I came to play baseball.”
“Well,” he said, “we’re all filled up. Thank
you.” And he excused me.
I went out, and he shut the door. There was
a drinking fountain there, and I took a drink of
water and thought, “Well, now, what’s that all
about?”
Fortunately I had the stamina to knock on
the door again. He said, “Come in.” I walked in.
I said, “I want to sign up for varsity baseball.”
He said, “I asked you a question. Do you
want to play ball or do you want to be a
champion?”
Finally it sank in. I said, “I want to be a
champion.”
“Oh,” he said. “Then sign here.” He said,
“At this school we build champions. We don’t
play ball.” There’s a difference I have learned.
Well, the year went on, and somehow
I made the team and had some great and
glorious experiences. As we came down to the
final innings of the season, Fairfax High (our
archrival) and Hollywood (which I represented) ended in a dead heat—a tie. There
would be a one-game playoff on Friday afternoon on our home field.
Thursday afternoon our coach got us all
out on the ball field. We were standing around
him, as players do with their coaches, and
he was giving us some instruction, fired-up
enthusiasm, motivation. Then he turned and
said, “Paul, you’ll pitch tomorrow.” I was
thrilled but scared.
I want to give you a little flashback. This
was an interesting coach, not a member of the
Church, but a man who had seen in contests
the great ability to build youth. He had each
boy on his team sign a contract, not a
professional contract, but a contract of rules
and regulations. There were some thou shalts
and thou shall nots, and one of them had to do
with the Word of Wisdom, although he had
never heard of it. He said, “Now, if you’re
going to play ball for me, you’ll play according
to the rules. Is that understood?
And I said, “Yes, sir,” as did all the other
players. So we signed our contracts, and he
kept them on file and occasionally he would
remind us.
Well, as he was giving his pep talk, our allstar second baseman was standing in the circle
with his hands on his hips. When the coach
made a pass, he stopped and he did a double
take. “Jimmy,” he said, “is that a nicotine stain
on your finger?” Jimmy put out his hand.
He said, “Yes, sir.”
Then he said, “Well, don’t you know the
rule?”
“Well, yes, sir.”
“Did you sign a contract with me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you know the penalty?”
“Yes, sir.” And this was being said in front
of the whole team.
He said, “You’ve lost your privilege. Turn
in your uniform.”
I almost shouted, but I didn’t, “Coach, wait
till tomorrow! We’ve got a game.”
Jimmy was batting .380 and as a second
baseman had not made an error in league play.
And he now had to turn in his uniform. Our
coach was the kind of person that kept close to
the boys, even when he disciplined them. He
didn’t lose him, but he wouldn’t let him play.
The next day I drew the assignment to pitch.
The game went into extra innings, and they
beat us one to nothing in the top of the thirteenth. Do you know how it happened? A
ground ball was hit to second and the ball went
through the substitute’s legs, and that proved
to be the winning run. Well, I went home that
night and literally cried myself to sleep because
I wanted to win. You see, I hate to lose.
Paul H. Dunn
Well, that was over twenty years ago. I
thank God this day for a great man, a great
coach, who taught me that playing according
to the rules was more important than winning.
The World Needs What You Have
In a very real sense, you and I have been
sent to earth to play a very important game,
and there are some wonderful rules and regulations attached to it. To those of us who have
the common sense and the understanding and
the ability to listen to the coaches, I submit that
we have a great head coach, Harold B. Lee. You
have heard him, the Quorum of the Twelve and
all General Authorities, bishops and stake presidents, leaders and wonderful teachers. Do you
think all these people are really out to kid you?
Or have they been sent at a particular time in
your life to assist you in playing the rules better according to the game of life? I submit it’s
the latter, and I challenge you as a player, in
this contest to listen to wise and capable counsel. You’re here at this University for a number
of reasons. We of the Board of Trustees see two
primary ones: (1) to prepare yourself—and prepare you must—to meet the great challenges
that the world offers you, and (2) once you
have become prepared, to give it to the world,
to make this world a great and marvelous and
wonderful place in which to live.
I have just come from a 2 1⁄2–week stay in
Europe, and I’d like to testify that the world
needs what you have, and it needs it quickly
and in great abundance. We see you here training on this campus as the ambassadors for
Christ to teach others how to play the game of
life. Now, there is a challenge attached to that,
young people, as you make preparation for
yourselves, for your families, and for the rest
of the world. We’re a missionary church. You
know that as well as I do. The scriptures are
replete with counsel from our Heavenly Father
through his Son. Let me just remind you
quickly of one or two examples. They’re not
new. You study them more completely here,
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I suppose, than anywhere else in the world.
Here’s a revelation given to the Prophet Joseph
Smith contained in section 64 of the Doctrine
and Covenants. It was given in September of
1831, shortly after the church was organized.
There were not many members, but they had
a tremendous and awesome responsibility to
share, to give, to teach. This is what the Lord
said to a prophet:
Wherefore, as ye are agents, ye are on the Lord’s
errand; and whatever ye do according to the will of
the Lord is the Lord’s business.
And he hath set you to provide for his saints in
these last days, that they may obtain an inheritance
in the land of Zion. [D&C 64:29–30]
Could I just pause and ask a question? How
are they going to obtain it if you and I don’t
give it and give it willingly and effectively?
And then he continues:
And behold, I, the Lord, declare unto you, and
my words are sure and shall not fail, that they shall
obtain it.
But all things must come to pass in their time.
Wherefore, be not weary in well-doing, for ye
are laying the foundation of a great work. And out
of small things proceedeth that which is great.
Behold, the Lord requireth the heart and a willing mind; and the willing and obedient shall eat the
good of the land of Zion in these last days. [D&C
64:31–34]
Permit just a personal reference to this. Back in
the 1940s my younger brother received a mission call to New England, and (without running
through all the details which really don’t matter)
he was sent to a little community in Nova Scotia
called Kentville. There he labored for most of his
mission. As some elders and missionaries do, he
came home seemingly a failure in terms of convert baptisms. And you know how older brothers are with little brothers who don’t produce,
don’t you? I didn’t let him off the hook at all.
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Brigham Young University 1974 Speeches
Twenty years later, almost to the day, his older
brother Paul was called to preside over the same
mission. In my first member district conference
at Halifax, Nova Scotia, a little lady came up to
me after the first session. She said, “Elder Dunn,
Elder Dunn, do you have a brother by the name
of David?”
And I said, “I believe I do.”
And she said, “Was he on a mission in New
England?”
I said, “He was.”
And then you missionaries would appreciate this. She opened her purse and started
through all her pictures. She lifted one out and
said, “Is that him?”
I said, “Twenty years ago, that’s him.”
“Oh,” she said, “where is he?”
I said, “He’s in southern California.”
“Oh, I’d like to communicate with him. He’s
responsible for bringing me into the Church.”
I said, “No, ma’am, you’re mistaken. My
brother didn’t bring anybody into the Church.”
“Oh,” she said, “I hate to correct you, sir,
but—.” Then she called six other people over,
all with great families, who happened to be the
backbone of the district at Halifax. And she
said, “All of these are because of your brother.
We thank God for him.”
Out of small things great things shall proceed.
Teach Your Neighbor
Now, missionaries, how do you put that on
your weekly chart for comparisons? I just submit that we’re all missionaries. I’ve often
thought (as every General Authority does), “If
we could somehow unleash, in an organized
form, before the whole world, the power that’s
represented here today.” Think of it. Eight thousand, probably more, returned missionaries on
this campus alone. Why, that’s half the total
full-time force in the whole world. Now, could I
challenge you as a great university in your own
wonderful way to be missionaries, even here in
Provo? I know it’s a little more challenging and
difficult, but there are lonesome people on this
campus. There are those who seemingly are not
wanted, who haven’t been befriended. There
are the inactive; there are those struggling, as
well as the thousands of people with whom
you come in contact as you go to and fro. The
missionary opportunities are no less here than
anywhere else in the world.
Permit a “for instance” or two very quickly.
You know what the Lord says in section 88 of
the Doctrine and Covenants. He says it about
as simply as it’s ever been expressed: “Warn
your neighbor” (see D&C 88:81). Your neighbors can be those both in and out of the Church
that need any kind of a warning.
I guess I wouldn’t be out of order to tell you
a little interesting experience that happened to
me last year. Before I left on my mission I lived
right across the street from the sheriff of Salt
Lake City. He is a wonderful, law-abiding
citizen, and he has made me more so. When I
came home, I sold my house, and moved just
around the corner about the same distance
away. One day while I was observing
construction on my home, which is on a little
hill with quite an incline, I pulled the car up,
parked it, and got out and walked around to
head up to the house. Suddenly the car started
rolling backwards downhill, and there were
several little children playing at the bottom.
I panicked, as any parent would, and ran
around and opened the car door. It was rolling
fairly fast now. I got halfway in, and the
momentum of the car upended me and threw
me down on the street. I got my leg in, trying
to pump a brake that wouldn’t pump, because
it’s all power steering with power brakes so
that nothing worked. I knew I had to divert the
path of that car. To make matters more challenging, the car door banged on my leg; with
a real prayer on my lips, I somehow got the
strength to turn the wheel to divert its path. In
doing so, it crossed the street, jumped the curb,
and I pruned—and I mean pruned—the sheriff’s prize maple tree. I really leveled it. The car
Paul H. Dunn
went over the tree and through his back fence
and came to a stop in his rose garden.
Now, here’s the scene. You’ve got a runaway car with a General Authority on his back
in a rose garden. The sheriff looked over the
hood of the car and said, “Paul, what in the
world are you doing?”
And I couldn’t think of anything any better
than this. I said, “Sheriff, I’m your new home
teacher.”
Well, now, that is not the way to warn a
neighbor. I don’t think the Lord had that in
mind, but rather to share feeling and concern
and to give help.
Maybe this is more of what he had in mind.
An acquaintance of mine became seriously ill
not long ago. I hurried up to the Veterans
Hospital in Salt Lake City to see if I couldn’t
attend to some of his needs. He’s got some
problems. He’s not the most active soul in the
world, and you can kind of get the picture.
There’s one around you somewhere.
He was surprised when I walked into the
room. “Well, how did you know I was here?”
“Oh, the Lord has ways of sharing this kind
of information.”
He had a blood condition that had caused
his body great distress. It was very serious
because of his age. He had tremendous pain in
his ankles. He was eating dinner at the time I
entered the hospital, so I sat on the edge of his
bed and said, “Would it help if I massaged
your legs for a minute?” So I massaged him.
And I said, “Can I ask you a personal question? Did this sudden illness scare you a little?”
I said, “Does the bishop know you’re up here?
Would you be offended if I told him?” I asked,
“Would you like a special blessing?” He nodded yes. “Do you have faith?”
“No,” he responded.
“Do you have faith in me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what faith is?”
“No.”
So I sat on the bed and taught him.
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You know, I find that most people don’t
know these things because they haven’t been
taught; they don’t understand. I gave him a little 2 1⁄2-minute talk on faith. The first principles
of the gospel are what? Faith, repentance,
baptism, and the gift of the Holy Ghost. Now, if
you back up and look at faith, it says what? In
the Lord Jesus Christ. Sometimes we leave that
out. So I taught him the principles. He hadn’t
ever heard that before, and he was sixty-two
and had been born and raised in the Church.
I had noticed, of course, when I first went
in that there were four other men in the room.
It was a ward shared by several men without
any privacy. I noticed while I was teaching
(although I didn’t make it a pronounced sermon as such; it was just between the two of us)
that others were straining to hear. So as I stood
up in preparation for going around to place my
hands upon my friend’s head, I turned, as the
Spirit prompted me to do so , and I said to the
other men lying in their beds, “Gentlemen,
may I have your attention please?” They all sat
up in bed. I said, “Perhaps you have noticed I
am here to visit my friend, who is ill like you.
I’m his home teacher. We’re members of The
Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—
Mormons. I haven’t had a chance to get
acquainted with you; I don’t know what your
particular faith is, but we believe in assisting
each other spiritually. I am here to attempt to
do that tonight. I’m going to give this man a
special blessing.” Then I taught briefly just
what that was. I said, “I wouldn’t expect you
to endorse it or reject it particularly, but would
you mind being reverent for a moment as I perform this ordinance for my friend?” And they
all just sat there. So I stepped behind (because
we had no way of getting privacy), placed my
hands upon his head, and blessed him. The
Spirit touched both of us, and the tears came
without shame from a man who, I guess,
hadn’t been in church in twenty-two years.
When I got all through, we embraced each
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Brigham Young University 1974 Speeches
other, and I said, “Now, can I ask you a personal question? Did I offend you?”
“Oh no, Brother Dunn,” he said, “this is one
of the most sacred moments in my life. Thank
you.” Then I turned to go out, and four other
men wanted blessings, two of whom weren’t
even members of the Church. Now, Latter-day
Saints, you don’t have to be embarrassed at
who you are or what you are. There’s a teaching moment awaiting every one of us as we
share this most priceless gift which is ours.
I pray God that we might catch something of
that great vision and the importance of it.
Seize Your Opportunity
Now, I had some other things to talk about,
but time won’t permit. Let me just leave this
challenge with you to get as well prepared as
you possibly can on this great campus. I don’t
know where you duplicate this effort. You
can’t. This is the Lord’s university, presided
over by men of God. I know these men as you
do. I watch them work. I sit with them. I testify
that they have your interests at heart. I pray
that you won’t be like some who get out into
the world and then want to kick themselves
because they didn’t take advantage of the
opportunity. Seize it now while you have it.
Make every moment profitable. Live for it.
Prepare for it. Then go out and willingly give
what you have learned. The world wants what
you and I have. We don’t have to be embarrassed to teach it, to live it, to testify of it.
God really lives. Jesus is the Christ. Some of
you are yet trying to find that. We understand
that. You’re in what some of the psychologists
call ambivalent age. You vacillate. You want
unconsciously the security of youth, of childhood, but you want the maturity and the freedom that go with adulthood. And you vacillate
back and forth. Some of you won’t drop your
anchor until two or three or four years from
now. There’s one great blessing I learned in
the mission field. There are such things as late
bloomers. Thank God that we don’t judge and
prejudge some people right out of this existence. Some of the little guys that I had in that
mission who I thought would never wake up
have come home, have found themselves, have
dropped their anchors, and have become great
stalwarts in the Church and the community
and have gone on to surpass some of my socalled stars of yesteryear.
Now, you have the potential within you to
do everything that you were sent here to do.
Just in conclusion, remember it’s a great contest. In the game of life, you’ll win if you play
by the rules. You’ll find yourself and the Lord,
and then you share the gospel and give it, even
on this great campus and in this great community. God bless you. I know he lives. I know
Jesus is the Christ. Harold B. Lee really is a
prophet. With great personal interest, I
watched him as an apostle for over eight years.
I have been in conference with him. I have sat
in an upper room of the temple with him. I
have seen him in his most tender moments.
Then I saw, as you did, the mantle fall upon
him. He really is a prophet, and, like you, I
thank God for that knowledge. May we so give
it to the rest of the world, I pray in the name of
Jesus Christ. Amen.